Embers
by TheRavenFromTheDeep
Summary: Abandoned. That's a word that came to mind when he thought of his crew. Hoxton-centric story, high T maybe M later. Fair amount of swearing and violence, including but not limited to mentions of rape.
1. Prologue

The air smelt of burnt flesh and it was making Hoxton sick. He had been walking for what seemed like hours. Pressing his charred arm against the wall, he signaled Bain, "How much further?"

"Just a little bit more. The escape van will bring you to a trustworthy doctor," The rest of the crew listened as Bain's calm demeanor seemed to be breaking.

The Englishman pulled his mask off and threw it to the ground. It was too irritating to wear with his burns. Hoxton checked his sidearm's ammo, cursing and dropping it alongside his mask. It would only slow him down and he could buy another one when he got home. If he got home.

Hoxton couldn't help but wince as he pulled his charred side away from the wall. He continued onward for a few more feet before tactical lights flashed in his face from his escape point. The sharpshooter spun around as quickly as he could, but he was cut off.

"Bain...," Hoxton began, "We've had a good run, right mate?"

Bain was silent. Hoxton took that as a sign that he had lost hope too. He pressed his back to the wall and slid to the ground, he could hear the crew urging him to try something, anything. Hoxton was content to rest.

He was roughly handcuffed and shoved into a squad car. The officer, who he was pretty sure someone had called Winters, hadn't buckled him. Hoxton was slowly falling asleep, and before he knew it he had had dropped to his side.


	2. Dark Nights

**A/N: Well, here's the first real chapter! I was trying some new things so I hope it's all right.**

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There were no words to describe his anger. Sure, replace him with some wannabe bank robber. That's fine with him. But to give him his mask and name? Then bring him to his own escape? His anger only grew as they traveled to the safe house. Hoxton was the first to leave the commandeered FBI car. He had the server slung over his shoulder and he dropped it next to Lady Liberty.

Hoxton opened the fridge and pulled a beer from it, flopping onto the couch. He scowled at the others as they made their way into the room, "So who's idea was that?" He said gesturing to the man in his mask.

"Mine, actually," Dallas answered, sliding the mask off his face.

"Yours?" Hoxton answered, sneering, "Thought we were friends, Nate."

Dallas scoffed, "I feel the same right about now Jim, you just risked the whole crew so you could get some vague information!"

"Well, none of you were going to help if I had casually suggested it!" He rebuked.

The others drifted away as their argument grew, "Of course not! That was practically suicide!"

"If you had gone through half of what I did you would have assaulted the bloody FBI single handed!" Hoxton was on his feet.

Dallas stepped back, "You don't risk the lives of your whole crew for selfish reasons!"

Hoxton hadn't realized what he was doing until Dallas was on the ground, "You think I don't know that?! I sat in prison for two years because of that fucking philosophy!"

Jim turned away and swore, "This fucking leg!" He turned to Chains, "Take a look at this for me, will ya mate?"

"Sure, follow me," The ex-marine lead Hoxton into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. Chains pulled open his bag, "Strip."

Pulling off the jumpsuit, he cringed as it dragged against the hole. Chains spun around and was left in shock at the sight before him. He had treated the man many times before he was arrested but the body before him was almost completely unrecognizable. Most of his left side was covered in burn scars, some from his arrest and some were chemical burns.

Hoxton looked away, the staring wasn't helping his self-esteem much, "Hurry up, fuckwad."

Chains was broken from his stupor and quickly moved to stitch the hole closed and reapply his bandages. When he was finished he called for some spare clothes, tossing them to his patient. Chains gave him some privacy and Hoxton quickly got dressed. The Englishman quickly got dressed and found his was to a spare cot, or what he assumed was a spare cot. No one was laying in it so he took it. It was already past midnight so he didn't have time to worry about possession.

Hoxton's dreams were full of horrors, just like they were every night. He woke with a start, trying to regain his bearings. If he woke his cellmate he'd. Oh. Right.

Drawing back his thin sheet the fugitive made his way to the kitchen. Searching through the cupboards he found what he was looking for: his collectible tea tin. Thank the gods Dallas had kept it for him.

The sound of a creaking floorboard behind him alerted him, quickly grabbing a kitchen knife and spinning around. Wolf quickl raised his hands, "Calm down, Hox," The aforementioned man lowered his knife and went back to preparing his tea, "Couldn't sleep?"

Hoxton shook his head, "How am I supposed to? Every cop in the city must be looking for me at this point," He hid the real reason easily.

"Well, at least I saved your tea for ya," Wolf said. Of course it had been Wolf, not Dallas. The man was practically his best friend, who else would care about his possessions?

"Aye, thanks for that one, mate," He lifted the tea, the hot cup calming his nerves. Wolf seemed to sense that something was wrong. His friend seemed...off.

The Swede looked to the burns on Hoxton's face, "You've been trying to hide your burns since we broke you out. Don't be ashamed of them."

"What are you talking about?" Hoxton asked. Wolf was nowhere near on target, if he knew even half of what had happened...

The fugitive put his empty cup in the sink and Wolf grabbed his hands, "It's okay, James."

Hoxton ripped his hands free, "Don't touch me."

The technician stepped back and the Englishman pushed past him and stepped into the back yard. He pulled out his Zippo and reached down, realizing too late that he hadn't had time to jack a box from one of the others. Hoxton sighed and let his head hit the brick. Of course.

Footsteps roused the fugitive from his light sleep and his eyes locked onto the culprit. The impostor. Houston practically turned around and walked right back inside, but there was something in Hoxton's glare that seemed to beg for help. Dallas always told him his caring side would get him in trouble and he agreed.

Hoxton stood up slowly and Houston leaned against the wall, pulling out a small box of cigarettes. As much as it pained him, he needed to smoke, "Ass clown, can I bum a fag off ya?"

Houston practically punched the scarred man in front of him, "What?!"

Jim smirked, "A cigarette. Sorry, forgot it wasn't such a common word here."

Houston eyed him for a few more seconds, before offering one. Hoxton took it greedily. He pulled his Zippo out and sparked the flame. The ghost glanced over as Hoxton lit his cigarette. The flame cast a shadow over his face, deepening the appearance of his scars.

The fugitive finished lighting his fag and noticed Houston eyeing him, "Problem, dickhead?"

Houston looked away quickly, "No. Nothing."

"Just because I said fag doesn't mean you can check me out, twat," The Englishman dropped the cigarette and stamped it for emphasis, leaving the younger heister alone.

"Why do I try?" He whispered and mimicked Hoxton.

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 **A/N: Did ya like it? I hope you did! Please review!  
**


	3. Prep Time

**A/N: Sorry that this is such a short chapter. I felt like it was a good time to stop writing.**

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The makeshift weapon slid into him again. His charming cellmate had been slipped a toothbrush, which was now sharpened and resting in his side. The guards carelessly grabbed him by his burnt side and brought him to the infirmary, practically letting his assailant off with a slap on the wrists. Hoxton was laid down on a cot and left. The bed broke, and he fell. Darkness overtaking him.

The fugitive sat up quickly. It had been practically two months since his escape and he still dreamed of things that happened within his first year of prison. Looking around, he noticed Wolf and Houston staring at a laptop in the living room. Hoxton had quickly grown accustomed to Wolf's presence again, and it seemed they were the only ones who always stayed at the safe house.

He swung his legs to the side, stretching and walking towards the other heisters, "What're you doing here, fuck face?"

"Dallas called everyone here, for your information," Houston had kind of hoped their small interaction two months ago would've changed something between them, even a little. But here they were.

Wolf moved over and patted the spot next to him. Hoxton took the invitation and plopped down, "Well then where is he?"

"He went out for a run, should be back soon though," Wolf answered.

Hoxton yawned, "Is here for a briefing? I need to get back into the game."

"Hopefully," The technician sounded almost irritated.

Houston put the laptop on the table, "It's because of you we haven't been doing anything."

"Me?" The fugitive's face quickly turned into a snarl, "How is this my fault?"

Houston kept a calm demeanor, "You and that leg of yours. Dallas didn't want to risk anything."

"It's your fault I got a baton through my fucking leg, ya twat!" Hoxton was seething, how could this incompetent fuck think it was his fault? "You didn't measure the explosives properly!"

Wolf spoke up, "Technically it was my fault, I let him measure it."

Hoxton lunged at Houston, only for Wolf to grab him, "We're not going to kill him, are we Hox?"

"No, we're not. I am," Hoxton struggled against Wolf's grip, but he was still weak from being starved in prison.

Dallas made his presence known with a cough, "Both of you, calm down. We don't want anymore injuries."

Hoxton sat down, crossing his arms, Dallas opened the floor and motioned for them to follow him. They were led into the small war room which was outfitted with new blueprints. There were color coded flags placed all over them, something Hoxton wasn't accustomed too.

Dallas must've noticed his confusion and pointed at the various markers, "Red for guards and cameras. Green for vaults and security rooms. Yellow for the manager and anyone who could hold a key card."

The Englishman nodded. Dallas turned back to the blueprints, "This'll be an easy job. A jewelry store with lax security. Bain has calculated the response times, 4:00 minutes exactly. We should be able to get out fast," The mastermind looked at them all, "Hoxton, Chains, you're on crowd control. Me and Wolf will get the jewels. Houston, you cover the door and make sure no one gets in or out."

"Any questions?" Dallas asked.

Hoxton snorted, "We wearing sunglasses and using color names too?"

"Very funny," Dallas said, "Study the blueprints and use the facilities here to brush up on some skills. We haven't done a job in a few months so we gotta get used to it again. Especially you, Hoxton."

Hoxton huffed, and left the room, it's not like they didn't have a week to train anyway.

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 **A/N: Well, did ya like it? I only added The RD reference because of my frienderino who kinda betas my stories.**


	4. Torched

**A/N: So, I did use the idea of the robbery from Reservoir Dogs as a basic for this chapter. It was kinda the cheap way to go but I still like the way it went. Maybe you will to.**

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Hoxton stepped from the van, lowering the sunglasses he had mockingly adorned before leaving. Dallas followed him to the sidewalk, glaring the whole way, "What's up, Mr. White?"

"Please tell me you brought your real mask?" The mastermind was scowling.

Hoxton moved a hand to his side, about to sneer and show it. But no. It was gone. The Englishman smiled sheepishly, "I may have forgotten it."

Dallas put his face in his hands, "Your first heist and you forget your mask."

"Hey, the cops know me already. Not like I can hide anything," Dallas knew he was raising some good points.

"You can do this once. Only once," Hoxton was cheering in his mind, but scowled at the store.

Dallas turned to the rest of the crew, "Okay, now Bain informed me that yesterday this store got a supply of uncut diamonds. They'll only be here for today, as they're getting shipped to the motherbase deeper in D.C. For some reason Bain hid this from us so we'll need the manager to get them for us."

"I didn't hide it, you just didn't ask," Bain crackled through their earpieces.

Chains laughed and Dallas slid his mask on, "Let's do this quickly and with no casualties."

Hoxton corrected his glasses and pulled the dual Berettas from his shoulder holsters. Dallas smashed through the front door and shot the one security guard. Chains grabbed his pager, Dallas motioning for everyone to stay quiet. Hoxton kicked a man in the face as he scrambled to the door.

As Chains finished with the pager, Dallas spoke up, "We'll make this simple, we don't want to kill anyone but if you force us to we will. Where is the manager?"

One of the workers motioned towards a man cowering in the back, and Wolf ran forward and grabbed him, "Lead us to the diamonds and ya live, don't and I'll scramble your brains."

Dallas and Wolf disappeared with the manager and Chains leaned against the wall, "Man, we outta hit this place again sometime. Look at these jewels."

"We could have ass face do it, couldn't we?" Hoxton replied.

Their earpieces crackled again, "These cameras have audio, ya know? We're here for the diamonds only."

Hoxton heard hushed voices and spun around as a clerk pressed the silent alarm. The fugitive raised the gun and shot, bullet splattering gray matter on the display cases.

Houston burs through the door, "Cops moving in! We need to move-" A bullet pierced through the younger heisters stomach, cutting him off.

The Englishman moved forward, grabbing him before he could hit the ground. Hoxton dragged him to the back and yelled for the others, "We need to leave, now!"

Wolf rounded the corner, bag in hand. Dallas yelled for them to get to the van and Hoxton through the ghost on his shoulders, "Sorry if this hurts, mate."

Hoxton was the last one through the door, and a shield quickly cut him off. He backed up and raised a gun, "Stay the fuck out or one of them dies!"

The Englishman made his way to the back, "Drive around to the depot, I can get out there!" He shouted into his earpiece.

The familiar voice of Bain responded, "Leave him, Hoxton. The cops are rushing around to cut you off, you won't make it with him on your back."

Hoxton pondered the words for a second, "Can I get him out?"

"I just told you, you can't get out," Bain stopped, "No. We aren't leaving you again."

Dallas finally connected into the conversation, "Why do you always have to be so fucking self-righteous, Jim? I appreciate the gesture here but you need to stop playing hero among thieves."

Hoxton looked out the door, sure enough the first cops were coming around, "Just get the van back here. Can you take him?"

"We're getting both of you out of there," Wolf answered.

The van skidded to a halt ten feet from the exit, and Hoxton rushed as fast as he could. He carefully passed the injured man to Chains, and started to climb in. A loud crack rang out and a bullet tore threw his shoulder.

Hoxton fell forward onto Wolf, "Fuck!"

Chains quickly pulled the doctor bag from the overhead compartment and looked at the two injured men in front of him, as if trying to decide.

"Treat him first, ya twat!" Hoxton yelled as he sat in the seat closest to the door, putting a hand on his wound.

Dallas looked to him, "Put pressure on the wound," The mastermind paused, "And thanks, Jim. For looking out for my brother."

"Don't get sappy on me, I wasn't even thinking when I did it," He replied.

Dallas slid his mask off, "But I know you, you would've done it even if you knew."

The van driver pulled into the garage, "We're here boys, how we made it out of there I have no clue."

Dallas tipped him and Chains moved the injured heister to the living room, setting him on the couch. Chains opened his shirt and examined the wound, "The bullet passed through, and it didn't seem to hit anything vital. He'll be back on his feet in a week, but it won't be fully healed for at least a month."

Hoxton looked skeptical, "Then why's he not moving?"

"He's just passed out. Better this way, we don't want a full reenactment of that movie do we?" Hoxton highfived the Marine, instantly regretting it as the wound still hurt.

Chains quickly patched up Houston and then moved to Hoxton, "Nothing too serious here. Clean pass through, too. Nothing vital and that'll be healed even quicker than Zach's."

"Zach? That little asshat's name is Zach? Knew he was a twat," Chains chuckled and Dallas was scowling.

"You should be nicer to him," Dallas said, "He used to idolize you, ya know? Then you got pissed at him and now he thinks you're only capable of being a dick."

Hoxton looked away, "It's your fault, Nate. You're the one who gave him my name. If you leave a man in prison and he sees himself on the news, how are you supposed to react? Brush your replacement off and peacefully wait out your three life sentences?" The Englishman paused, "I'm less angry at him, and more at you."

The ghost lived true to his title as he watched the conversation, resting his head back at those final words. Maybe the pills Chains had put down his unconscious throat would take affect soon.

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 **A/N: Well, that's the end of this my dudes.  
**

 **P.S. If you haven't seen Reservoir Dogs I highly recommend it.**


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